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Shooting Star
IC-Cybertron Starchamber transmits an old Combatronian hailing frequency. IC-Cybertron Octane says, "What's that? It sounds like a old, Combatronian hailing frequency." ..... What is this? It takes Blast Off a moment, but he finally gets over his shock and thinks to respond. This frequency comes at him like a sudden, screeching blast from the past... a channel he once used to communicate with other Combatronians. A VERY long time ago. He responds to the com link code given. << ....Who is this? >> << Sergeant Major Starchamber, Twenty-Second Orbital Assault division, Combatronian People's Army. And who is responding? >> That sounds oddly familiar and foreign to him at the same time. But the frequency does seem to check out, so... << ....Blast Off. >> Hmm. Somehow that doesn't *quite* have the same ring to it. He needs to ask Onslaught for a longer title, apparently. Actually *any* title. /Magnificent/ comes to mind, would that fly? << Blast Off.... are you Combatronian or one of those motherworld softsparks that waste their ammunition on organic targets? >> Starchamber replies. << ..... Actually, I am a Combatronian who has, in the past, "wasted ammunition on organic targets", as you put it. >> << Primal Vanguard then? >> is the next question. The femme in question seems curious. << Yes, I was. >> << ... Are you the rebels then?>> The question is asked with such a tone that it could be taken as hushed awe - or cautious suspicion. That draws a pause from the shuttle. When Blast Off responds, his answer is much more guarded and wary. All he knows is that his group DID rebel, and they paid a heavy price for it. He doesn't even know anything that happened after that, or how Combatron even remembers him and the others of his team. << ...And what if I was? Why are you here? >> << -- Don't you know what happened to Combatron? >> Starchamber asks, incredulous. << --Nevermind, I've triangulated your position. Stay fixed, I'll meet you in twenty kliks. The orbital defenses are as pathetic as they ever were. >> Blast Off listens to this, torn between his rather justified paranoia these days- and the sudden sharp hope that maybe, somehow.... this is finally that contact with his homeworld he's been wanting- that answer he's been waiting for. For so LONG. Is this voice really a fellow Combatronian? He pauses, and for better or worse- hope wins out. << Very well. >> And wait he does, making sure the spot he waits in isn't going to be too easy for unwanted people to overhear conversations in- but not a hard area to escape from, either. A brilliant light far in the heavens should be visible to a sniper's optics; it's the look of forcefield shielding as it pushes against the atmosphere of the planet. Like a meteor streaking across the sky it's there and gone in an eyeblink, but its apex trajector is heading right to Blast Off. Eventally the silver-white ship arrives, sleek and elegant - not a shuttle, but a space fighter, similar to a jet. It loops upwards as if to shoot skyward, and then transforms into a white and black fembot with gold markings. She lands in front of Blast Off and gives a crisp salute. Blast Off watches this, his own scanners taking in as much information as they can. He feels a surge of excitement as he realizes he's watching what appears to be some sort of fellow spacecraft! A Combatronian who is also a spacecraft?! Be still his beating spark! And she is a femme, no less! The shuttle stares as she lands and salutes him. His response is far /less/ crisp. He's been on his own (or in limbo at Garrus-1) for so long he's nowhere near as "military" as she seems to be. Eventually it occurs to him that he should do... something. His old military training brings one black hand up for a salute of his own, though it is far more... relxaed and half-afted. "Star Chamber, I take it?" He glances up towards the stars, then back to her. "...Welcome to Cybertron. I guess." His optics narrow a little. "Did you come *from* Combatron? How IS it? How has it been?!" His eagerness carries into the usually more even and aloof tone of his voice. Blast Off's ignorance of what became of their shared homeworld is enough to reawaken old pains for the fembot. "... I... I take it you don't know, then? Brace yourself solder. I don't have a good report to give." She lowers her arm and adopts parade rest stance, arms behind her back, feet a shoulderwidth apart. "Megatronus Prime went missing, and after that King Atlas and his generals attempted to carry on as best they could, but old habits - old nature die hard, as you well know. Eventually there was a dispute over who would be the next Prime and lead COmbatron, and it was settled in the traditional way: Full planetary warfare." The shuttleformer takes note of the femme's *extremely* military stance. Yep she's from good ol' Combatron, alright. (That "good 'ol" was sarcasm, by the way...) Not that Blast Off doesn't /greatly/ miss his homeworld and wish to return to it, but.... he never quite ...fit in that way. All that posturing and YES SIR! and mindless... obedience.... it just never quite compelled him the way it did most of his brethren. He always preferred more... comfortable things. He LIKED fighting, don't get him wrong, but... it's just that to him, there was always something more important to life than JUST fighting. "Yes, I remember that much. There were rising tensions between Combatron and Cybertron, and... well..." He glances away, optics dimming. "There was... rebellion." "Yes, we're aware of your decision to remain loyal to the colony. You were regarded as heroes to those of us still alive," Starchamber states. "Unfortunately our forces were far too evenly matched. Combatron is a complete loss, and our remaining forces, few in number, scattered to the solar winds." Blast Off's expression changes as he listens to the other Combatronian. First, there is relief at being told that he and his team were seen as /Heroes/. They *suffered* for what they did, and he never even knew if his homeworld even appreciated what they'd done, or why, or if everything had been twisted and no one even knew what had happened. The news lifts a burden he didn't even realize he had. Then there is shock. His optics pale and fix on the femme. "...Complete loss?" The shuttle suddenly finds he can longer quite *stand* on his own, and has to lean against a nearby wall as he equlaibrates and takes that in. "Cybertron... destroyed Combatron?" "Oh no. Megatronus /no/," Starchamber states with a blink of surprise, and no small hint that such a thought is laughable and insulting to her. "Combatron destroyed /itself/." Blast Off turns to stare at her, arm still resting on the wall. "...What do you mean?" "Our forces were evenly matched against one another in the unrest. We of course committed to total warfare, and as such, we fought until there was nothing left to fight. I wandered our planet's irradiated husk for hundreds of thousands of years, and what handful of us remained decided on a truce. Better a temporary ceasefire among our internal factions than suffer the loss of our civilization completely." It's stated so matter-of-factly, so casually, that it defies belief. Starchamber maintains her discipline even in delivering such awful news. Blast Off feels his jaw dropping open at that, and is glad he's wearing a faceplate so he doesn't look as dorky as he thinks he might otherwise. There's a slow sort of optical blink. "So you.... weren't fighting Cybertron, just.... each other, and..." He wants to make sure he understands this correctly, "Nobody wanted to give in, so you fought for countless years until there was nothing left to fight *for*?" She sighs. "Yes. Not the most glorious of victories, I admit, but a victory nonetheless." Blast Off slowly crosses his arms. "....And how is that a victory, then?" Starchamber remains unphased. "There were survivors. /That/ is what makes it a victory." Primus, grant him patience. Once more, Blast Off is reminded just *why* he never quite meshed with most Combatronians. Most of them are mechs like Brawl. Give him something to *smash* and he'll be happy. Doesn't matter why, just matters that something goes BOOM. And then there's Blast Off. Who doesn't mind it when things go BOOM, but he likes there to be some purpose and point to it, and then he likes to go HOME and relax and enjoy some *civilized* things. The shuttleformer raises a black hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in some exasperation. "So. Mindless warfare for centuries on end that result in the near destruction- but not TOTAL destruction, because THAT would just be wrong (!)- of our kind is a... *victory*?" The hand comes down and he stares at her. "Are you MAD? How is fighting until there is almost nothing left for /anyone/, supposed to be a victory? How is... scattered survivors blowing in the solar wind- supposed to be any sort of /victory/? Is there even anyone LEFT on our homeworld? Any life? Any industry? Any culture? Any... ANYTHING?" Starchamber takes it all in, listening to Blast Off's diatribe. She expects it; he didn't know of the fate of their home and as such his emotions are no doubt raw and fresh. His reasoning she can't argue with. Pride prevents her from simply agreeing with him; and the reality of situation is that those that were left, that no longer had generals and majors and captains shouting at them to go in, guns blazing, against their own brothers and sisters, had long since lost the will to continue the pointless fight. Darklanders. Barbarians. They had been called that from the earliest days, because there was always something about them that tended towards chaos, destruction and death. No. She will not admit to the truth. Not yet anyways. Pride, loyalty and professionalism will not allow her to agree to Blast Off's viewpoint. "We are -warriors-, Blast Off. The culture, the industry, the foundation of our colony is -war-. Those that remain achieved the ultimate victory of any soldier on any battlefield: We remained -alive-." Blast Off's emotions ARE indeed raw. This is a meeting he's been waiting... well, it feels like ALL HIS LIFE for. It was /so/ long ago that he saw his homeworld, and he *suffered* so for his defense of it, to protect it from Cybertron's machinations .... and now he finds it was for.... for /WHAT/? So that his brethren could destroy /THEMSELVES/ without Cybertron's help ANYWAY!? "I am a warrior, too. I fought for Combatron, too. Do you KNOW what happened to us, Starchamber? Do you know what our FATE was after we were captured?" His optics flash and he waits for an answer. She remains impossibly cool about all this. "We were informed you were killed by Cybertronian military forces for refusing to scrape before an illegitimate Prime. The fact that you'are alive is both encouraging and disheartening." Blast Off is a mech who always tries to keep control. Always tries to look calm, aloof and unaffected. But this is just a bit much, even for him. His face turns downward and his fists clench. It takes him a moment before he can respond. "You ...were correct about our rebellion. Commander Onslaught ... ALL of us.... we sided with Combatron. We did NOT bow down. We resisted those buffoons claiming superiority as ANY true Combatronian WOULD." His face turns back towards her. Again, he has to compose himself before he can continue. "They .../captured/ us. ...Imprisoned us for that." The shuttle's cultured voice cracks just a little as he shares something he has shared with almost NO one else. "They ...extracted our sparks. Our minds were /torn/ from our bodies, our T-cogs and cerebro-cortexes taken and our bodies... our FORGED, original, *amazing* bodies.... were SMELTED or... or PRIMUS knows WHAT. And we were STORED away in their prison on Garrus-1 for MILLENIA. Bodiless minds floating in LIMBO. I thought I might go MAD myself." Optics flashing, he takes a step forward. "I was only... recently taken out, stuffed in this... this...." He stares at his hands, "MOCKERY of a form, and now I find that... we suffered through that, fought and nearly died for that.... for.... for WHAT?" He stops and stares at her. "So that rather than CYBERTRON destroying our world, that my world did it to /ITSELF INSTEAD/." He feels utterly drained and defeated, and the shuttle's black hand again braces against the wall. Starchamber takes it all in, listening to Blast Off's diatribe. She expects it; he didn't know of the fate of their home and as such his emotions are no doubt raw and fresh. His reasoning she can't argue with. Pride prevents her from simply agreeing with him; and the reality of situation is that those that were left, that no longer had generals and majors and captains shouting at them to go in, guns blazing, against their own brothers and sisters, had long since lost the will to continue the pointless fight. Darklanders. Barbarians. They had been called that from the earliest days, because there was always something about them that tended towards chaos, destruction and death. No. She will not admit to the truth. Not yet anyways. Pride, loyalty and professionalism will not allow her to agree to Blast Off's viewpoint. "We are -warriors-, Blast Off. The culture, the industry, the foundation of our colony is -war-. Those that remain achieved the ultimate victory of any soldier on any battlefield: We remained -alive-." Blast Off's emotions ARE indeed raw. This is a meeting he's been waiting... well, it feels like ALL HIS LIFE for. It was /so/ long ago that he saw his homeworld, and he *suffered* so for his defense of it, to protect it from Cybertron's machinations .... and now he finds it was for.... for /WHAT/? So that his brethren could destroy /THEMSELVES/ without Cybertron's help ANYWAY!? "I am a warrior, too. I fought for Combatron, too. Do you KNOW what happened to us, Starchamber? Do you know what our FATE was after we were captured?" His optics flash and he waits for an answer. She remains impossibly cool about all this. "We were informed you were killed by Cybertronian military forces for refusing to scrape before an illegitimate Prime. The fact that you'are alive is both encouraging and disheartening." Blast Off is a mech who always tries to keep control. Always tries to look calm, aloof and unaffected. But this is just a bit much, even for him. His face turns downward and his fists clench. It takes him a moment before he can respond. "You ...were correct about our rebellion. Commander Onslaught ... ALL of us.... we sided with Combatron. We did NOT bow down. We resisted those buffoons claiming superiority as ANY true Combatronian WOULD." His face turns back towards her. Again, he has to compose himself before he can continue. "They .../captured/ us. ...Imprisoned us for that." The shuttle's cultured voice cracks just a little as he shares something he has shared with almost NO one else. "They ...extracted our sparks. Our minds were /torn/ from our bodies, our T-cogs and cerebro-cortexes taken and our bodies... our FORGED, original, *amazing* bodies.... were SMELTED or... or PRIMUS knows WHAT. And we were STORED away in their prison on Garrus-1 for MILLENIA. Bodiless minds floating in LIMBO. I thought I might go MAD myself." Optics flashing, he takes a step forward. "I was only... recently taken out, stuffed in this... this...." He stares at his hands, "MOCKERY of a form, and now I find that... we suffered through that, fought and nearly died for that.... for.... for WHAT?" He stops and stares at her. "So that rather than CYBERTRON destroying our world, that my world did it to /ITSELF INSTEAD/." He feels utterly drained and defeated, and the shuttle's black hand again braces against the wall. Starchamber weighs whether or not she is willing to reveal her true feelings on the matter so quickly or so easily, but seeing a fellow Combatronian in pain reawakens some bit of her that had been lost for millions of years. She steps closer to Blast Off and her tone softens, letting compassion (something she'd normally consider weakness) to come to the surface. "I understand." Does she really? "After it was over, after the last great nucleon bomb was dropped, it took days for me to come back online, and when I did... I was the only thing alive for miles. I wandered endlessly, looking for survivors and finding nothing but hills of corpses, ruins, fires, debris. I don't even know how I made it through that blast. I lived alone for millions of years, surviving by any means necessary - draining the energon from the dead when I had to - and trying to repair myself enough to leave the planet." "I know that isolation and loneliness. I did it in a broken body - so I at least had that - but I know. I understand. I can only say that there was a victory... for myself. Because I was the last bot standing." Blast Off continues leaning against the wall, suddenly exhausted. He watches her come closer, his face mostly unreadable under the optic visors and faceplate. "Then you lived in your... own prison, just as we did. The only difference is mine was created /for/ me, and you helped /make/ your own." The shuttle's gaze flicks away with a sigh. "...Or perhaps we /both/ made our own prisons." A little more quietly, he mutters to himself, 'Perhaps I'm *still* making my own prison..." He straightens a bit at that, suddenly remembering to put on the more unaffected, aloof front he usually puts on. "But we are both spacecraft- we are /built/ to be alone, so simply being alone isn't going to bring us down, is it?" Wings shift and he continues. "But this.. this news is the perfect example of what I never... quite understood. I *get* fighting for a cause. To obtain something that you need to survive, or to defend oneself. Or to hone one's combat skills. But mindless violence simply for it's own sake...." He shakes his head, "I never did quite get that. I wanted to *fight*, and then go home to enjoy more civilized things." "There's always the ill-fit in every society," Starchamber offers with her first hint of a smile. "I suppose the only difference between Combatron and the motherworld is that, instead of seeing the outlier as the defective part to be removed, we saw them as the specialized bullet to be used at the apex of battle." She exhales. "It is the curse of our tribe, Blast Off. We were governed by the Prime of Entropy - what can you expect?" Blast Off sighs and finds himself leaning back up against the wall, arms crossed. "I /know/. I was there. I never quite... fit in. Most Combatronians didn't quite know what to... make of me. There aren't a WHOLE lot of military space shuttles, after all. But I was /always/ considered elite, and I always knew that just as I soar higher than any of those stuck in the planet's gravitational pull, so /too/ do I need to soar higher in my goals and my aims. Our particular kind is rare and special and should set an example of how to reach the pinnacle of our race. The others always needed us to reach for the stars that they could not get to themselves. And actually, that is one thing I *did* like when I went to Cybertron. There was an expectation of high class and culture simply from being a shuttleformer." His head slowly shakes once more. "However, I've found the "cons" seem to outweigh the "pros" on this planet. I had... hoped to be able to... return home. With my team. I found them recently, in fact. We're all still alive, somehow." "Fantastic!" Starchamber announces, drawing one hand into a fist in eagerness. "Finally we can have some decent command structure! Some -orders-! Tell me your commander is still alive!" Blast Off blinks. "Well, yes, I just did. The entire team: Onslaught, Vortex, Brawl and Swindle. Our bodies have... changed, obviously, but our personalities are the same. For the most part." Ok, so millenia stuck in limbo seems to have accentuated some of their *quirks*, but... she can find that out herself. "Onslaught is brilliant as ever. I chose to serve under him, you know. I hadn't met many individuals before him who understood the value of planning, and foresight, and using care instead of sheer brute force to solve all his problems. Well.. not that he doesn't use that *sometimes*, but he understands the balance. He didn't try to use /me/ as a wrecking ball, for instance. I am much more of a pinpoint, precision tool." "Onslaught! Excellent. Very well then, tell me where we're garrisoned and give me a sitrep. I have spent far too long sniping unchallenging targets for other species. I /long/ to return to the sanity of command," Starchamber says eagerly. Blast Off blinks again. Hmm. How to put this? He remains leaning against the wall and informs the new Combatronian: "Well... it's not quite... that simple. You've come at an... odd time. Like I said, we've only just gotten out and just found each other. There isn't... really... a formal Combaticon army unit, though we ARE fighting together again. It's just...." He looks around as if afraid he'll be overheard. "Cybertron is as broken as it ever was, and we have joined a group that just might be able to fix that. A group that... well, it's not officially an army or anything, but it is certainly moving in to become one." Blast Off also thinks to add a question, "....Sniping?" "I've had to sell my talents as a mercenary," she confesses with a sneer of disdain. "Without a formal army and without supplies and repairs, one must be willing to do things one would never consider otherwise. Yes - I'm a starfighter, I can perform orbital assaults, but I have a third form. Hold out your hands." The shuttleformer raises an optic ridge and shrugs his shoulders slightly. "There's nothing wrong with being a mercenary, or doing what you need to in order to survive." Blast Off can't help but look slightly impressed as she confirms her space-capable mode, and then.... "Third form?" He hesitates a moment, then does as she says. Starchamber leaps up and transforms, folding up and shrinking down. A long-barrelled, impressive looking rifle lands in Blast Off's hands. "Thank you, it would have been embarassing to be dropped," the gun says. Blast Off is surprised, and someone slightly less... dextrous might HAVE dropped the triplechanger. But no, the sniper wasn't about to let THAT happen. Suddenly he's holding her in his hands... something that might feel *really* weird* about now in any other context, but in THIS one.... no, it seems just fine to him. He holds her carefully, taking care and yet grasping her as the experienced gunsmech he is. He moves her just enough so that he can admire the view. "...Impressive." "I've been sighted properly and in the right hands I'm accurate to twenty kliks. I've an optional chamber charge if you want to bring in an heavy assault; I'm no rail gun but I don't need to be - I don't 'spray and pray'. One shot, one drop," Starchamber states. Blast Off finds himself smiling just a little under his faceplate. All the *civilized* talk aside, he DOES love some precision weaponry. "Twenty? I..." There's an almost amused sounding huff from his vents. "I must admit, I'd love to try shooting with you sometime. You sound like me, then- someone who values taking their time and making their shot actually *count*. I don't know if you are aware, but I am the team sniper. I.. well, I *used* to be able to strike a planet-side target from orbit. One of the best long-range shooters out there. If I... could reach space again and practice some, I'm sure I would be again." His smile has vanished by this point. "Of course, we're not *allowed* to go into space anymore..." "Bah. 'Allowed'. I violated their airspace quite handily. I'm a fighter, who is to tell me where I can and cannot go? If you want to go to space or if it's required on a mission, I'd be glad to escort you. I realize they've stripped you of your original glory but you are a combaticon - we turn weaknesses into strengths." "Feel free to use me whenever you like," Starchamber adds, the comment unintentionally loaded. Blast Off sighs. "It's... not that simple. You got lucky. There is actually an orbital patrol. I've run afoul of them several times, and they're no joke. They... shot me down once. That and some... other things nearly killed me. And if they give someone as skilled as /ME/ trouble, you would be wise to exercise some caution." Though Blast Off hates saying this. It runs against everything he values- being free to choose, being free to fly to space and not be lorded around by buffoons. "If I could get back to space, don't you think I would have by now? But even if I got past the Orbital Police, where would I go? I don't have enough fuel to make it to the nearest inhabitated star system. Space travel is banned. that means everything space travel related has fallen by the wayside... including people like us. Parts, fuel, coolant... everything I need for space is getting harder to find all the time. Even my own... parts are difficult to replace." He glances down at his recently replaced rocket feet. That last ..."offer" gets a raised optical ridge from the sniper. "Uh... um, sure. When... if it's.... proper, I mean." "I think any time you have a need it would be proper. It behoove a cohort to look after one another's wellbeing," Starchamber says without the slightest hint of irony. "Yes... of course." Blast Off nods. "But did you hear me? You're stuck here." Yes, the shuttle's been becoming a bit pessimistic lately. "Though it sounds like you weren't planning on going anywhere, anyway." He reaches his hands out, offering to let her transform and get some space again. "As I was saying, though, things are... odd right now, and we Combaticons are training the best we can and preparing for... well, for some sort of fight." The gun seems to leap out of Blast Off's hand, returning to the size and shape of the fembot it was before. "If we're stuck here, we'll just have to fight our way free. Besides, it's been a good long while since I enjoyed a war. Don't tell me that being trapped on the motherworld has robbed you of your love of combat." Blast Off lets her go, then leans back against the wall once more. Her comment on enjoying and looking forward to /more/ war right after learning that an /slavish blind obedience/ to it basically just destroyed their homeworld is a bit jarring, and he simply stares at her for a few astroseconds. Her last comment causes him to glance away. "No, of course not. I am a skilled sniper, despite the limitations on space travel. I have maintained my battle prowess. As I said, we have joined up with a group that seems prepared for war, or something similar. They have been holding pit fights, honing and testing the unwashed masses and seeing if something battle-worthy results. And it has... I found my team and we again fight as we did in the Primal Vangaurd, taking down all who would oppose us. I have... also HAD to keep fighting on my own, anyway." He shrugs. "I'm a Combaticon. We /don't/ fit in this world very well, and I don't think we ever will, and well..." He looks around again. "I've run afoul of... several of their laws, so I've quite a bit of experience fighting police, bounty hunters, and everyone /else/ out there who seems to have a vendetta against me." Which some days seems like /half of Cybertron/. "... You seem broken." Starchamber gets a little closer to Blast Off but observes appropriate personal space, lowering her voice and reaching out to the shuttle with a hand as darkly colored as his own. In fact, her forearms, shins and feet are black as space itself. "Do you need help?" This causes the shuttle to tense, of course. He freezes as she starts getting closer, then leans away as her hand reaches towards him. Blast Off is instantly wary. Violet optics dart briefly across his own frame... hmm, nothing seems out of place? ..then back to her. "....What do you mean? I'm perfectly *fine*." Star will have none of that and cuts to the heart of the matter. "You're -flinching away from me-. ... You weren't... you weren't -tortured- were you?" Blast Off is finding he doesn't like *this* line of thinking at all. He becomes instantly defensive, arms uncrossing and starting to scoot away from the wall. "Why's that any of YOUR concern? What's it matter? Did you want to come back and meet Onslaught or not? I haven't got all day." Suddenly he's impatient, irritable and trying to change the subject. Starchamber frowns. "I -care- because you are -my kindred-," she says, her voice raising several notches as she bristles right back at Blast Off. Blast Off hufffs, "Well, you can just worry about yourself. Did yoyu want to meet Onslaught or not?" "Stop being a protoform!" Star chastens. "I will show compassion for you and you will -like it-!" Oh it's -on-. The shuttle's own armor plates begin to bristle and he takes a step back. "Stop acting like you're my *Commander*! Besides, we're Combatronians, right? Theres no room for compassion in warfare." Blast Off's certainly heard that said. "Mind your own business. I'm not some... bleeding spark who needs to /share/ everything! I'm a space warrior!" "Well then /act like one/ instead of a flinching soft-plated civilian!" Starchamber snips irritably. Blast Off HUFFFS even more loudly. "I am a *space shuttle*. I NEED my SPACE. It GOES with the territory!" "I AM A SPACE VESSEL TOO!" Starchamber snaps, arms folded across her chest, incredulous. "If you've been -tortured- you should have proper care and rehabilitation so you can function fully again! Why is it so difficult for you to understand that I am concerned for your well being?! I haven't been around a Combatronian - never mind a -Cybertronian- - in three million years! I thought I was the last Combatronian in existence, so OF COURSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOUR WELLBEING!" Blast Off winces slightly. He takes another step back, wing elevons twitching nervously a few times. "Well.. it's not like we exactly HAVE the facilities for anything LIKE that, anyway! My team and I are forced to scrape by to survive... I'm not exactly living in the lap of luxury anymore. Besides, I never said I *was*." Of course, come to think of it, his whole LIFE lately seems like one big torture. "You just accept that life is hard, you face it with as much dignity as you can, and move on!" "... Are you sure you're taking your own advice?" Starchamber asks pointedly. Now Blast Off just looks annoyed. "What do you mean? Of course I am! I just said it, didn't I?" "And so that's why you flinched when I reached my hand out to you. Because you've 'moved on', 'accepted that life is hard' and 'faced it with as much dignity as you could'," Starchamber smirks. Blast Off glares at her. "I don't like people touching me, that's all." He shrugs and looks away. "I suppose a good hard frag is totally out of the question then," Star says flatly. That absolutely flabbergasts the poor mech, and he practically stumbles backwards into the wall once more. His ventilation systems sputter and wheeze a few times before he can find his voice again. "Wh-WHAT?!" "Did you not catch the part where I haven't been around another Cybertronian in three million years?" Starchamber asks calmly. "I have /needs/." Blast Off is starting to look awkward, optics widening and ventilation systems still cycling a little faster than usual. It's possible he's "blushing" under that plating, too. "I...uh..." He inches away slowly. "I.... could send you to Onslaught? Uh... talk about...that... with him?" "..." Starchamber just stares at him incredulously, and potentially, a little hurt. Just a twinge. "Am I not attractive?!" she asks in a mild state of panic. Blast Off is having his own sort of panic, actually. The shuttleformer is suddenly faced with not one, but TWO problems. Well, *beyond* the usual standoffishness that is. For one.... suddenly somebody actually WANTS him? He's spent so long pining away for others (or trying to avoid certain scary or disturbing others) and.... not only is this a shock, but.... um.... the fact of the matter is, he hasn't... um, ///y'know///... since he got this BODY. He hardlined with Shiftlock, yes, but.... something more? What if she wants something MORE? Ms. I HAVE NEEDS? He /THINKS/ everything's working, but... uh, it's not like he's actually TESTED it OUT YET. And then there's Feint. There's always Feint. Lurking in the back of his mind and making him wonder if he'll ever be able to tolerate a femme up close to him ever again. He starts edging away faster. "No...I mean, yes, I mean.... Look, I.... You're quite ...lovely, really, but.... I...I think you might want to.... go see Onslaught." HELP me COMMANDER. Why isn't Onslaught ever around when he NEEDS him? Starchamber catches her 'breath', hand over the golden yellow of her cockpit, central to her chest. "Oh thank you, Blast Off. I-- I thought perhaps I'd lost my appeal; when you're out among organics and technoorganics they just don't appreciate your design, and then there's the polishing, SO MUCH POLISHING, do you have ANY idea how long it takes to get get this color of white cleaned to a mirror finish?" Her engines splutter and her fans flutter like little sniffles and sobs. "... I'm sorry, I'm not being very professional am I? I... I'm just happy to see another living spark, especially a fellow colonist and space warrior." Blast Off stops, still looking a bit like a turbo-deer in the headlights. However, his optics can't help but rove over that finish she speaks of, and indeed it IS quite lovely, and... But no! "No... it's...alright. And I...I know the feeling, I try to look my best, too. Though..." He glances down at himself, "Living in the rustpit that is Kaon hasn't made that EASY." He works to get his flash of phobias under control, and enough sense returns to him to add, "I... I am glad to see another Combatronian, too. Even if... the news of our homeworld is not what I would have wished for. You have... been through a lot." "As have you it would seem. But yes... let's move to home base shall we? I need to meet the rest of our kindred and establish myself in the cohort," Starchamber agrees. Blast Off would breathe a sigh of relief if he breathed. The shuttle finally relaxes... just a little, at least, and his stance against the wall is less desperate. He gives her a nod of his head. "Very well." Turning to go, he says, "Follow me." Time to bring her to Kaon- and the Forge. The Forge Blast Off has waited a very long time to learn news of what happened to his homeworld, and that wait is finally over thanks to a star that fell from the sky- namely Starchamber, a fellow Combatronian. The news was not good news, but it answered some questions- and raised some more. But some time has passed, and Blast Off brought his fellow space alt to Kaon and the Forge to meet the other Combaticons on his team, and to introduce her to the Decepticons- the group he just joined. Now the shuttle sits at one of the Hall's tables, sipping on an enerbeer. His odd new drink of choice. But ever since his recent imprisonment, something has been just a bit... off with him. Even MOREso than usual, that is. Boisterous laughter from Vortex and Brawl come at the end of a long conversation; Starchamber's caught up with the other members of what is now her new cohort. Things went well; there was a time of mourning for the homeworld, and a time of sharing old names and faces. A time of learning what became of Cybertron and where they all now stood. It was enlightening, and invigorating. For all the talk of doing away with functionism - and it was a good idea as far as Starchamber was concerned - there was something to be said for having a purpose to one's existence. Breaking away from the other Combaticons, she makes her way to Blast Off, standing near him. "Do you mind if I join you?" Blast Off looks up briefly from his enerbeer before his gaze drops back towards the amber drink. He shrugs in way of an answer, then takes a sip. He's not been rude to her but there's been a certain... awkwardness after their first meeting. She sighs a little and sits down. "Are you all right?" she asks gently, trying to coax some kind of response out of the sullen and withdrawn shuttlecraft. Sullen? Withdrawn? Aloof and standoffish? Who, Blast Off? Ok... /yes/ Blast Off. The shuttle shrugs again. "I'm fine." He glances towards the other Combaticons, huffing a little as Brawl laughs just a little too loudly once more. "You seem to be fitting in." "Well, I'm happy to find other -- Combaticons, is it now?" she smiles. "But I would have enjoyed it a bit more if you were around. I understand if you're uncomfortable though, but... well, I'll be less than professional. I like you. I'd like to be around you, work with you. Would that put you off?" Blast Off blinks and tenses, and asks just a little bit too defensively, "Why do you like me? You hardly know me." "You're a space warrior like myself, a combaticon like myself, and you understand loneliness, like myself. What /isn't/ to like?" Starchamber replies, grinning. Blast Off is still being obstinately standoffish. "I never said I was *lonely*." His optics furrow down and he glances over at the other Combaticons, as if worried they overheard her say that. "I am built to be alone. I am a space shuttle. Why would I have an issue with the very thing I was made to do?" He takes a large swallow of the beer. "I'd say all those years in a white-out cell as nothing but a spark might leave one lonely," Starchamber says. She frowns a little and studies Blast Off's face intently. "Why do you keep withdrawing from me? I--" She pauses as if a light has gone off in her head and she immediately sits up and looks at the table. "Oh. /Oh/. Oh I am very sorry. Forgive me please." Blast Off winces and almost hisses at the mention of the white-out chamber, huddling in closer around his beer. "Do you /mind/? That's not exactly something I care to have advertized all over the Forge!" Never mind that there isn't really anyone sitting that close to them. "Yes, if anyone looks into our history, sure... it's... there, unfortunately. But still..." He takes another swig of beer, then coughs a bit. He's still getting used to it. It's no wine, after all. Then she starts doing all that weird "oh" stuff, and the shuttle is compelled to stop and turn his face up at her. ".../What/?" He has no idea what's she's going on about. "I just realized that..." She pauses. "Well that I might not be your perferred.... docking partner." Blast Off staaares. ".... What do you mean?" "... That you... prefer... well... /mechs/," Starchamber stumbles out. Blast Off was afraid of that. His beer mug slams down before he can catch his anger. "Who put you up to THAT? Vortex?! I have had it to /HERE/ with people assuming I've got *conjunx enduras* with Quantum and *mechcrushes* on Deadlock or even some /weird fascination/ with Whirl's CLAWS!" Though actually... those claws are kinda hot. The shuttle's ventilation system cycles a few times as he calms down and shrugs a hand. "I mean... I'm not *against* the idea of mechs, I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, but...." He shakes his head. "No. I usually like... femmes. They just... they just...." He looks a little haunted now. "They just don't seem to like me. Or... work out. Or..." his voice trails off. Starchamber startles as Blast Off has a microfit, slamming down his mug and railing at her. The wide-eyed stare ought to demonstrate to him that it certaintly wasn't what she meant, and she certainly had no idea about any of that Quantum or Deadlock business. She pulls her hands into her lap, and loses a bit of that deer-in-the-headlights stare. "Well," she states firmly but quietly enough not to encourage eavesdropping, "I like you. I've said as much. But you keep pushing me away. Might the fact that you send such mixed signals be part of the problem?" Oh, now she's just going to try and bring REASON into this discussion!? Blast Off stares at her again, his instinctive reaction to pour on the denial and defensiveness when he gets nervous and flustered. "Mixed signals? WHAT mixed signals?! I... I am not sending any signals at all!" He turns to face the beer mug once again and gives a haughty little sniff. "I simply... try to do my job and mind my own business and wish that others would mind theirs!" "And then you sit here, looking lonely and sad, drowning your misery in low-grade, tell me how it never seems to work out with any femmes, saying how they don't like you, while one that has specifically said that she likes you sits across from you and shows interest," Starchamber points out calmly. "And then you all but tell me to go away. Do you... do you not actually /want/ fembot company?" Blast Off blinks and looks up, wing elevon twitching once uncomfortably. He then stares at a distant spot on the wall, not sure what to say but feeling far more nervous than he should. His grip tightens on the drink as thoughts and responses swirl about his head. Finally, he speaks... quietly. "No! I.... do. I..." He hesitates once again, still not looking her in the optics. "It... it just *doesn't* work, Okay? There was one femme, and... and I /failed/ her, and now she's.... gone where I cannot help her, may not even... exist anymore, and another femme I thought I might like but no, she's an *Autobot* now and untrustworthy despite everything we... we did together, and another one who I... met only a few times and..." His head twitches at the memory of Feint, "We were not really friends, but she... left an *impression*. I... am not going to forget anytime soon." There is actually another femme, Swift Blade, who might actually be one of the few /sane/ people Blast Off knows, but he's still investigating that, nor has it turned to anything romantic. Yet. And given his trauma with Feint, he's *afraid* for it to. With Swift Blade... or anyone else. "Do you remember what being in a cohort was like? Or perhaps what it was like for some?" Starchamber asks gently. Blast Off furrows his optics and does at least *look* at Starchamber. "...Like the Primal Vanguard? Yes... we may have been... in limbo for a long time, but ...well, I had nothing BUT my memories to keep me company, after all." "My cohort on Combatron was encouraged to... /bond/, if you will," Starchamber explains. "Our general believed that the cohort that cared for each other in that way would fight harder, fight to the death for one another. So... I understand where you are coming from. Every time we lost a member, there was a missing part of ourselves that lingered for a long time. If someone went traitor, we all suffered the confusion, betrayal and grief. There was space for mourning and loss, so, if that is the case, then I apologize. I will attempt to be more professional with you in the future and not be open with my personal needs." Blast Off listens and nods, and tries to convince himself that's exactly what he wants. He's got lots of experience in denial, after all. "...Thank you." He places a black finger and slowly traces the rim of his mug. "What you describe just sounds... messy to me. It's much easier to work alone, or at least keep a professional distance. Once you get... emotions and attachments in the way, it just... clouds judgement, it seems." Like him and his apparent inability to AIM PROPERLY when he's upset. "I *always* strive to maintain a cool, calm professionalism, after all." "... So I have noticed," Starchamber replies dryly. "Very well then. I'll leave you alone. It isn't what I want, mind you, but until you manage to pull your head out of your thrusters I'll get nowhere with you." She stands up. "Oh, and for the record? I'll wait for you to change your mind." Blast Off's engine growls briefly, then dies down again. "My head is NOT in my thrusters." The shuttle is feeling extremely conflicted now... he'd like to ask her to stay, but for one he's too slagging *proud* to, and two, .... he's terrified to. This is one of those times his lack of social sauveness really tends to kick him in the aft. "I'm... simply trying to keep focused on what's important." And not get hurt, or fail someone, or be faced with those nightmares again. "Enjoy your brew and your solace. I'm going to enjoy myself," Starchamber grins saucily, before making her way to the exit. Blast Off turns to glance at her, then returns to his beer with an indifferent shrug. "Well, it's not like *I* care..." No, he enjoys being alone. He was BUILT for it, after all. This doesn't bother him at all. And with his recently exacerbated intimacy issues, odds are he's going to be alone for a long time to come... A radio transmission to Blast Off from Starchamber states: << Some day I /am/ going to frag you senseless. >> Blast Off //spits/// out his beer mid-sip in surprise and starts coughing violently. IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Who is the recognized commander of this planet?" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "That's be our right, honorable Sentinel Prime." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Sentinel... it is not Nova, then?" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Yeah, no... " IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Ah, good, then perhaps I'll not be castigated for what I'm about to say." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "ALL HAIL MEGATRONUS, PRIME OF COMBATRON." IC-Cybertron Blast Off says, "What the SLAG do you think you're DOING?!" IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Waiting to see if this planet is governed by mechs or scraplets." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Not exactly sure what Castigation is but as a duly appointed officer of the Triorian Guard, I am somewhat compelled to inform you that that is a treasonous statement and can be acted upon by lew enforcement." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Law, I mean. Yeah, Law, that thing." IC-Cybertron Blast Off says, "More *scraplets* than *mechs*... but that's neither here nor there. They'll pick up your signal before too long!" IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Good. I'm due for a challenge." IC-Cybertron Blast Off says, "..... Are you .... you have GOT to be..... /I DON'T KNOW YOU./" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Ah, just what we love; a Amazonatron that's got some rust in her gears. You go ahead and sit tight. Someone will be around to talk to you about these flagrant and unlawful statements." IC-Cybertron Blast Off's signal clicks off IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "I've already penetrated your airspace, there was hardly resistance." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "And you didn't even buy us dinner first..." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "What's your name, soldier? I remember the Triorian guard here as a group that had at least -some- kind of solid struts." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Guardsmech, not Soldier, Guardsmech. Small difference there but a vital one. Guardsmech Octane of the Triorian such and such." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Sergeant-Major Starchamber of the twenty-second Combatronian Orbital Assault brigade. A pleasure." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "A shared pleasure, I assure you, Sergeant-Major. By the sound of it, we owe you a welcome back to Cybertron. I'm sure the homeland has been sorely missing you." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Oh somehow I doubt that very much." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Now now, let's all get back on the right foot. There's room for everyone, a place too.. one that is suited and determined solely by your alternate mode, but a place never the less!" IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Not that it presently matters, as the colony is now so much apocalyptic ruin." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Oh, a place based on my alternate mode? Well well." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Yes, Functionism is all the rage, keeps the wheels turning." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "And I'm certain I'll get the same welcome as the other Combatronians who served in the Primal Vanguard." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "More or less. Times are tough these days. " IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Also by the looks of things space travel is... obsolete?" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "WHat with political radicalists roaming in the shadows- Ah, not quite..." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "More... let'sd call it out of style. Another bit of politics." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Triorian Guard... that's for triplechangers, correct?" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Usually 3 or more, yes Ma'am." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Hmm. I suppose that's where I'd be assigned then." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Barring any unfortunate brushes with the law and a proper, legislative and functionist review, yes Ma'am." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "/Functionist review/." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Functionist Review." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Well now I know why Megatronus told Nova Prime to, and I quote, "Frag his exhaust port with the hot end of a smelting rod"." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "I can see why that might cause some gears to grind, yes. I assure you that it is entirely benign, of course." IC-Cybertron Octane says, "Just a few, slightly invasive probes and you're all set." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Oh is that all? Well, I'll be sure to turn myself in to the nearest review board for probing." Blast Off coughs some more listening to that. IC-Cybertron Octane says, "And the wheels of our grand civilization continue to move ever forward!" IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "Yes, it's such a wonder the Galactic Council views us in a poor ligh." IC-Cybertron Starchamber -t. IC-Cybertron Octane says, "A misunderstanding, I'm sure. We'll have them over for drinks and a bit of chit chat sometime, clear it right up." IC-Cybertron Starchamber says, "So, do I surrender directly to you, good sir, for processing and handling?" IC-Cybertron Octane says, "SURE! Sure, let's go with that." ++ You transmit through your cellphone to Starchamber: "*long silence, ignores previous comment* .......Starchamber.... you DO realize they'll be tracing your signal back here, right?"" After some chatting on the open airwaves outside and away from the forge, and finding no one to beat up other than potentially Octane, Starchamber goes quiet and returns to 'base'. Fortunately it's deep underground. She grins to herself, and wonders how Blast Off took those little radio messages she sent. Let's find out. Blast Off is still sitting, nursing who knows /what/ numerical sequence order of beers by now and trying to look totally aloof and uneffected by anything. Ever. Which is complete denial, of course, but that's the way he is. Speaking (not really) of the Triorian Guardsmech Octane, someone that might just be said triplechanger has arrived! The miss match of kibble that littered his long, lean frame marked him as a potential multi-former. Aerodynamic curves and heavy treads were rarely matched with one another. He has likely been lead here by a series of 'Who the slag is Starchamber?!'s and 'Where the slag is Starchamber?!'s And there she is: approaching Blast Off and his pile of enerbeer cans, she stands out mainly due to color. Not a lot of white-silver fembots with black 'leggings', black gauntlets and gold cockpits on their chest. The rifle barrel in the center of her back that sticks up beyond the top of her helm, along with the seeker-like wings, give her away as a multiformer. "Are you STILL drinking?" she demands of Blast Off, not yet noticing Octane. The voice should give her away. "Don't tell me I caused you to drink -more-." Blast Off stiffens... though this time he also sways just a bit, too. Apparently he HAS been drinking quite a bit. Staring once again at a random spot on the wall, and then another, and another... and that's a lot of spots, actually.... He finally puts both black hands palm-down on the table to equilibriate himself. Optic ridges furrow down. "NO. Of COURSE not." If Starchamber is astute, she might begin to notice the shuttle has a habit of *denying* things... even when the pile of cans gives him away. He casts a quick glance towards OCtane- all 3 of him... but hey, he's a triplechanger so there are probably *supposed* to be, right? "THat might be what we're calling. 'Sarcasm' these days." Octane intrudes upon the conversation, footfalls clanking along as he approaches the Combats, pulling up short just out of arm's reach. "Newest thing, all the craze in the upper circles." he is not mocking, rather he speaks with a friendly, warm tone, a smile playing upon his lips as he casts a crimson gaze upon Blast Off and then Starchamber, "Octane." he introduces himself, "We spoke." Star stands up straight to have a look at Octane, mentally cataloguing anything of military interest or combat potential. It's there, but not quite as sharply as someone who might be, say, a class-six ruination tank in one mode and a winged wolf in another. She feels relatively confident that in a fight, she could take him. She salutes out of good manners. Well, Combatronian manners. "Ah yes, here to give me that probing, right?" she quips with no small amount of playful humor, then continues as she thumbs to Blast Off. "Does he always drink this much or is it just because I told him I wanted to frag him senseless?" Blast Off brings one of those hands up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as if a cerebro-ache is onsetting when Octane comes in and mentions Starchamber becoming a "craze in the upper circles". He lets out a sigh. "I *tried* telling her to be more careful... that the authorities would be tracking her signal. Thumbing her nose at them is fine, I suppose, but it should be done with *foresight* and caution.” Then she pipes in with... THAT. Again the shuttle winces and hisses slightly as she mentions wanting to *frag him senseless*. He... he has no idea how to respond to ...THAT. Again, the shuttle's got *issues*. Well, if you're going to go around and compare everybody to a Phase-6er (Not that they're called that yet, of course), you're going to find the dating pool to be pretty shallow! Still, either way, she's right. She could take him, but not before he tried to convince her that she really didn't need to, or he put on a good show of actually knowing what he;s doing with things like shields and flamethrowers. HOWEVER, I digress! Octane cycled a breath with a sighed laugh, shoulders bobbing as he returned the salute, hand lifting up and hovering near the brow of his helmet for just a moment. It was less than Uniform-Crisp, but the thought was there. "If only I were so fortunate." he mused in kind. With her remark, he turned his attention to Blast Off once more and seemed to consider the mech, head bobbing for just a moment with scrutiny before he piped up, "I can see it," he piped, "Femme like you, mech like him. He might have to be hauled in for repairs afterwards, maybe even a junker... Not that it is the worst way I can think of to go!" Blowing up tops that list, it's the top three, in fact. "He does have a good point though, I hate to admit. We're playing our hands close to the breast plate at the moment." he confides, "Underground movement at all, that kind of stuff, while spirited as all get out, puts a bit more light where we really don't need it." he explains, gesturing absently as he speaks. "So Onslaught tells me," Starchamber agrees. "That's why I went outside and several miles up to begin truly prodding the powers that be. I wanted to see how they would react, and who would respond. Fire a few warning shots, as it were, to see who's flushed out." She folds her arms and remains composed, though still amused by all this. "So I am to understand that the current commander of this resistance movement is a miner named Megatron - how very fitting; Megatronus was the Prime of Combatron, one of the greatest soldiers and weaponsmiths of our species. It is altogether fitting that I should make my way here, to serve under such a warrior once more." Blast Off is just sitting there tensely, like he's trying to blend into the furniture now or something... but when Octane mentions getting "hauled in for repairs" afterwards he breaks that rigid pose and turns his head sharply towards them. Violet optics stare at him.... then her... then he whips his head back around and takes a long draught of the enerbeer. That very *odd* enerbeer. Smacking the mug down again, he gets enough nerve to mutter, ".... I'm not /THAT/ fragile, ya' know..." Yes, he's drunk enough to start saying "ya". Then Octane.... actually agrees with him? FINALLY. Someone with SENSE. "Yes... we are... we are preparing for action. So the more... smug and complacent our enemies are... the better." Blast Off listens to Starchamber, still swaying slightly and very much NOT looking at her as he does so. "Yes... it's... ironic. Or fated. Or fitting. Or... something. Megatron leads this group as Megatronus once lead ours. Perhaps that's what brought the rest of the team here in the first place." Rocking back on his heels, Octane brings a hand upto his chin and clasps it 'tween foredigit and thumb, nodding with mild approval. "Good idea..." he praised, his tone slow and receptive to the idea. "No offense meant, of course. Caution before valor until the day comes and such." he rattles on "Plenty of us are having to wear two different faceplates too. Kinda tricky but not exceedingly so. Like Blast-O said over there, a lot of them are complacent and idiotic but there's plenty of them that arn't." he keeps talking, he seems to like it, hand drifting from his chin as he makes vague gestures. Turning his attention to Blast Off, "You might want to slow down there, chief. Otherwise, someone's going to come around and flip your inhibitor chip." Starchamber leans over to Octane and asks as an aside, "Would it cause any problems among the mechs and femmes here if I just took advantage of him while he was drunk? I've been, ah, 'dry docked' for a good three million years at least." Blast Off blinks at the mention of an inhibitor chip. He then draws his beer mugs and beer cans closer together like a precious, precious horde. "I'm... plenty...." His voice trails off as his processor works to compute. "I am *perfectly fine, perfectly in... control!" He gestures with a hand to emphasize the point, which knocks several of those cans aside as he does so. That makes him stare down at the noise like... where did that come from(?), then he goes back to drinking. Octane's brows lifted and his lips pursed. He gave this a moment of sober thought, attention bouncing between the two. "Can't see why not, nobody could hold that against you." he mused as if this were a entirely reasonable thing to ask. With one hand poised at his hip, Octane clapped the other onto Starchamber's shoulder, "Just be sure to have whatever's left sent over for repairs... and maybe hose him off a bit too." "Oh good, I had no idea what the protocols were but I assumed it was somewhat laissez-faire," Starchamber notes with a wicked gleam in her optics. "So long as it does not interfere with morale or command, then." She starts to approach Blast Off. "Do remind me to get that probing done later, or whatever it is I need to do. I'm not above an inspection," she teases. She reaches down and take Blast Off's hand to attempt to pull him away from his PRECIOUSSS. "I think you've had enough, soldier. How about some target practice, hmm? I'll even let you sight me." Blast Off has no idea what they're talking about to each other about or he'd be /far/ flightier than he is currently being. Then Starchamber reaches for his hand, and the shuttle's too drunk to pull it away in time. Once she has it, he just stops and stares at her. "No, I need to stay here and finish..." Blink. "Target practice?" Suddenly he brightens just a little. "You mean I can... shoot you?" He means shooting her in gun form, of course, as a sniper. He looks over at Octane, like... HEYYY- there are times I LOVE my job! Octane stands, Octane stands and he watches. He had thought about 'taking the bullet' for boor, old Blast-o but not when the girl was a that long without a good work out. Instead, he stood, he watched, and he waved. It was a nice wave, a friendly one. As if he was hoping they had fun raiding a castle or something.